


Once Upon in Winterfell

by winsome_wasp



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M, Inspired by a Movie
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-05-07
Updated: 2013-05-07
Packaged: 2017-12-12 07:08:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,568
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/808726
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/winsome_wasp/pseuds/winsome_wasp
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Whoever gave me this necklace must have loved them..." Arya the orphan embarks on a journey to solve the strange connection between herself and the long gone Lords of Winterfell. Along the way she meets Gendry and the Brotherhood, a band of con men decided to survive against the regime.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Once Upon in Winterfell

**Author's Note:**

> A Gendrya AU story based on 20th C. Fox's "Anastasia".   
> This is my first attempt at writing fanfiction, still trying to figure out how to fix the dialogue format. The inspiration came after reading too many Gendrya stories, crying my heart out and mostly wanting to contribute to this wonderful pairing. Enjoy and review!
> 
> Characters belong to George R.R. Martin/HBO

-Goodbye, bye everybody-

Arya waved her tiny hand at the dirty faces pressed against the windows. She could distinguish Lommy next to little Weasel, the poor girl already had her eyes filled with tears, even Hot Pie was there, rarely seen out of the kitchens since he was promoted to cook assistant. For many years the Crossroad's Orphanage had been a dreadful sight to her: cold nights at the dormitories with the frost chilling their bones, tasteless porridge for every meal and most of all the harsh punishments for thinking differently. Yet know it hurt her to finally say her farewells.

-Are you listening to me?-

Arya had to stop waving and looked at once at the old woman before her. She could have been easily taken for the Crone inside a temple, only Arya doubted she'd be as pious.

-I'm listening Comrade Mordane-

-You've been a pain in my ass since you were brought here, acting like the Queen of Valyria instead of the faceless no one you are! For the last ten years I've fed you, I've clothed you, I've..-

-… kept a roof over my head- She didn't mean to, but Arya found herself muttering along the woman, muttering the same words she had heard a thousand times before. Mordane was silent and looked at her severely.

-How is it that you have no idea of who you were before you came to us, but you can remember all that?-

Arya continued to fiddle with the necklace in her hands. Winter is coming. Engraved in gold letters this words had given her strength in the past years. -Oh, but I do have a…-

-Agh, I know 'Winter is coming'. So you want to go to Braavos and find your lost family?- Comrade Mordane asked, unnaturally comprehensive. Arya knew better than to trust her, but nodded agreeing anyways. She wasn't wrong, as soon as she looked back at the woman her scarf was pulled violently from her neck. Mordane snapped, still with the scarf in hand

-Little lady Anya, it's time to take your place in life. In life and in line!-

She was pushed to the other side of the iron gate, and the scarf was thrown at her face.

-And be grateful too!-

She heard the metal clash, and watched as Mordane walked back into the building. Arya began making her way towards the road, barely listening to the Comrade's voice shouting 'Winter is coming' half choked in laughter, half in coughs.

-And be grateful- Arya tried to imitate the crone's hoarse voice. Oh, I am grateful she thought –Grateful to get away! - she finally hollered at the empty road before her. And she really was. Ever since being sent to the orphanage someone had tried to make her life miserable. What was she after all? Just an orphan more from the Revolution, a mouth to feed, a comrade to indoctrinate in the New Ways and later a pair of hands for the nation, that's if she made it to the following spring of course. It had been hell, but she had given them a bit back as well.

Comrade Weese, Comrade Polliver and Comrade Tickler had all tried to make her fit the mold, to accept her role as a worker more. But it wasn't in her blood to be tamed; she couldn't follow the rules because she never felt a part of the regime. If she was sent to help at the kitchens there was sure to be an uproar regarding the food rations. If she was sent to the fields the plowing was never finished in time. Only the kindly man was able to look beyond her rebelliousness, and so he had assigned her to the cleaning of the cellars. Sure, there was plenty of work to be done, but at least she was alone. She wouldn't get into trouble and there would be no need of calling Commander Bolton, or so the kindly man promised her.

Arya shuddered at the bastard's thought… Everyone knew Ramsay Bolton had been an aristocrat before, but as soon as the Revolution broke he betrayed his family and embraced the rebels. It is whispered he killed his father Lord Bolton in his own bed. He was now in charge of the discipline in the North, and his very name is feared in all institutions. Walking through the snow she sighed and thought maybe she should be thankful her mischief was never taken seriously enough, otherwise she would've been taken to the Dreadfort and who knows…

Her time at the cellars hadn't been bad at all, down there the kindly man would sometimes let her have a go at some of the equipment they stored. The Crossroads Orphanage had been some sort of gymnasium before and Arya had had a go at almost all the sporting gear she had found. Fencing had been fun, but carrying a sword would be unacceptable to Mordane and a complete defiance to the regime. She had then settled for boxing, one didn't always need gloves to knock out an adversary. Thin and malnourished as her body has been, she had developed a technique: her movements were quick and her hits precise, as she had seen the legendary Syrio Forel do. Every now and then she'd have to wait for Hot Pie to finish the cleaning of dishes and it was during one of these waits that the cook had invited her to sit down and watch TV. That had been the first time she saw Syrio fighting swift as a snake. The cook said his technique was rubbish, and called him a craven, for he hadn't delivered a single blow yet. Arya nodded, not wanting to displease the woman, but she understood what Syrio was really doing, studying his opponent. He finally stroked and the other guy was left unconscious on the floor.

From then on she would sneak into the kitchen, the common room and even Mordane's office to catch, even a glimpse, of his fights. They called it the water dance, and Arya soon learned its movements by heart. The warmth of those memories was still upon her face when she came upon the crossroad. Comrade Mordane had found a job for her at the fish factory, down at the Saltpan's Village. The road was clear; the snow had been shoved aside from all the carts that went into town. It was safe, but it meant to continue being tied to the regime and being also a step closer to Bolton and his men. On the other hand there was the road to Winterfell… Winter is coming she muttered softly.

Comrade Polliver had once told her those were the words of the Starks, Lords of Winterfell. -Whoever gave me this necklace must have loved them- Arya knew it hadn't been uncommon for the household or even the smallfolk to embrace their lord's sigil and motto once. People now worshipped the regime though, and few peasants still dared to maintain the old ways. If she could find anyone somebody, anyone, who could tell her about the Starks… Much to her despair she had learned they had all been killed during the Revolution (Polliver didn't spare any details). Still, there was a rumor that some maids liked to whisper… Lady Sansa had escaped and lived safely in Braavos, where no one cared for politics as long as they had coin to spend. However, she was realistic, she'd never get any close to Lady Sansa, if she was indeed hiding there, but perhaps she could find an old Septa or a handmaiden that knew her family. After all, she was sure they had been bound to House Stark.

Arya sat down and sighed heavily –Gods, sent me sign, a hint… anything!- She buried her head in her hands, but a sudden growl made her jump at once. A pup jumped from behind the crossroad sign, grabbed Arya's scarf with its tiny fangs and darted towards Winterfell's road. –Hey mutt give me that, I'm waiting for a sign- The pup ran in circles around her, tying the cloth between her legs and finally making her fall.

–What...- Lying down in the snow Arya was able to see the pup clearly. She blinked repeatedly, this was no ordinary stray dog, it was a direwolf cub. Wasn't a direwolf the sigil of the Starks? –Ok – Arya stated at once –I can take a hint–

She got up and half-jokingly asked the animal for the scarf back, but was amused at once at discovering how naturally it brought the muffler at her feet. –You're a smart one, aren't you?- Arya asked as she petted the cub and wondered whether direwolves made dangerous pets. Seven hells with safety, if this pup had found its way to her she wasn't going to ignore the omen.

-You can come with me if you want- and the wolf at once barked in excitement –Alright, alright. But you'll need a name. Mhhhh… what about Nymeria? She was a fearful czarina a long time ago. Do you like it, Nym?-

Again she received joyful barks in response. Arya took the cub in her arms and began making her way, one step at a time, towards the white road lying ahead. If she wanted to get to Braavos and find about the Starks, Winterfell seemed like the perfect place to begin her journey.


End file.
